Forever
by GeniaTheParadox
Summary: After a case goes wrong and John is almost killed, Sherlock realises just how much his lover means to him.


It feels like it's been forever since I published anything new, so this feels nice. It's good to be back.

I was going to make this little fic just fluffy, but then I decided to end it on some lovely smut. Because of reasons. So you're welcome for that, smut fans. This is just a one-shot, but prepare yourselves for some good old fashioned fluffiness from the ship that sails itself.

Review would be great, just chuck some at me.

And I do not own Sherlock Holmes or John Watson. I'm just making them even more love with each other than they are in canon for my own entertainment.

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**Forever**

Everything was a blur in Sherlock's head, scenes from the last twenty-four hours flashing through his mind out of sequence as he curled up in his coat beside John's hospital bed. But it always came back to the same thing – pain, fire, smoke, _fear_, the most all-consuming, paralysing fear he had ever felt in his life. It had outweighed the pain in his head from where that damned thief had hit him, the smoke filling his lungs, and the ache in his body from carrying the unconscious John to safety. Nothing felt as bad as the fear.

Sherlock was exhausted. The doctors who had patched up his head and bandaged his blistered hands had told him to rest. Lestrade had insisted that he go back to Baker Street and sleep, that John would be fine. But Sherlock had refused to leave his partner's bedside. He didn't even want to close his eyes. He wouldn't be able to relax until John woke up.

As the warehouse burned around them, he didn't care about his own safety, or the thieves who had left them to die, or even solving the case. All he cared about was getting John out of there, making sure that John survived. The most horrible thoughts rushed through his mind as he waited for the ambulance, John's blood soaking through his clothes. They had to make it, John _had _to survive, but... but what if he didn't? What if his injuries were so severe that he slipped away before the ambulance even arrived? The thought made Sherlock's blood run cold.

Sherlock edged his chair closer to the hospital bed, gently resting his hand over John's. They had been best friends for three years, lovers for over half of that time, but it wasn't until now that Sherlock truly appreciated just how much John meant to him. That morning, before he'd taken this new case, everything had been normal – or as normal as their unusual lives could possibly be. Sherlock had woken up much earlier that John, as usual, and had spent the early morning as he always did; watching his lover sleep. John's nightmares were now few and far between, and he looked so peaceful and beautiful when we slept. John had woken up with a smile on his face, seeing Sherlock watching him as always.

It was nothing out of their ordinary, but Sherlock's memories were now tainted. Their blissful morning of cups of tea, kisses on the sofa and the excitement of a new case was now fused with pain and smoke and fear, enough to make Sherlock's head spin. It felt like years ago that he had been watching John wake up in their bed, and now he was here in this hospital, once again watching John sleep but dogged by the terrible thought that he might not wake up at all. Sherlock held onto John's hand tighter, afraid to close his eyes, refusing to let himself look away no matter how much his body needed to rest.

Sherlock wasn't sure how much time had passed, but suddenly the early morning light began to feebly shine through the hospital window. John had to wake up soon, he just had to. _Please wake up, John. You can't leave me, not now, not like this. What will I do without you? How will I carry on without you by my side, without the love that's made my life so much better? You can't leave me, John. I won't let you. Please wake up, please... _

"Watching me sleep again, are you?"

Sherlock's heart leapt. He was so busy panicking that he hadn't actually noticed John's eyes open.

"J-John..."

Sherlock wasn't even sure what to do with himself. He was feeling so much all at once, relief and joy and unusual desire to cry that he tried to suppress. John winced as he sat up and Sherlock quickly adjusted the pillow behind his back with shaking hands.

"How long have I been out?" John asked, his voice sounding croaky.

Sherlock tried to think, but everything was a jumble of images in his head. He didn't even know what time it was.

"What happened to those thieves?" John asked when he got no reply. "Did they get away, or did Lestrade...?"

"I don't care about them," Sherlock interrupted abruptly. John raised his eyebrows, and Sherlock quietly added "There were more important things I had to think about than catching them. You almost..."

His words caught in his throat as he felt tears sting his eyes. He couldn't bear to say it out loud, but it was true. John had almost died. And it was Sherlock's fault that they'd even been in that situation in the first place

"Sherlock," John said tenderly. "It's okay. I'm fine, really. Just a bit sore... and groggy. You haven't slept at all, have you?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I couldn't. I had to make sure you woke up."

John reached out his hand and touched Sherlock's cheek, and Sherlock leaned into the touch.

"Come here, love."

Sherlock didn't take much coaxing to fall into his lover's embrace. He buried his head in John's chest, closing his eyes to the feel of those strong, familiar arms around him, the hand softly stroking his hair. The tears started to fall before he could do anything to stop them.

"It's okay, Sherlock," John whispered soothingly. "It's okay. I'm okay."

"I thought," Sherlock murmured into John's chest. "I thought you wouldn't... I thought I was going to... to lose you."

He felt John press a kiss to the top of his head. "You're never going to lose me, love. I'm not going anywhere."

Sherlock felt a drastic change in himself once John had been released from the hospital. Now when he looked at John he didn't just see his best friend, his lover, his boyfriend, but so much more than that – he saw his _everything_. Before John came along, Sherlock had no time for feelings or love or sentiment, and in many respects he hadn't really changed. It was only for John that he had ever felt anything close to _feelings_. But everything seemed amplified now that he had come so close to losing John. Just being a couple didn't feel like enough for Sherlock anymore. He wanted him and John to be forever connected, to be each other's entirely for the rest of their lives.

Sherlock decided to pay Mycroft a visit. Not something he would usually ever do willingly, as he took no pleasure in even being in the same room as his older brother. But this called for a face to face conversation.

"Sherlock, to what do I owe this unusual pleasure?" said Mycroft, not sounding the least bit pleased.

"Well, _brother dear_," said Sherlock, sneering the last two words. "I thought it best that I should come and tell you this personally, since it's a rather delicate matter. I didn't want you finding out about my private life by your usual intrusive means."

"Well then, by all means, take a seat," said Mycroft with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, gesturing to the empty leather armchair opposite where he sat.

Sherlock glanced at the chair with a smirk, before walking right past it. He stood facing the window with his back to his brother, although he could feel those piercing Holmes eyes trained on him.

"So what is this pressing news then?" Mycroft said slowly.

Sherlock paused for a moment, smiling slightly to himself, before declaring "After much deliberation, I've decided I'm going to ask John to marry me."

"And you've come for my blessing?" Mycroft said with slight amusement.

Sherlock turned to face his brother with an arched eyebrow. "As if the lack of your approval would stop me. No, I just wanted to be the one to tell you, rather than you just _finding out_, which I know you're so fond of when it comes to the goings on in my life. That's all."

"Yes, quite," said Mycroft, the small smile on his face cold and impassive. "Congratulations in advance, Sherlock. I'll be sure to inform Mummy. You are a very lucky man."

"And John isn't?" Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh no, he could do much better. But you certainly couldn't. It never fails to surprise me just how long Dr. Watson has managed to put up with you. But love is blind, as they say. I eagerly await the wedding invitation."

"We'll be sure to arrange it so there's plenty of time for you to trim down. Wouldn't want you taking up too much space in the photographs now, would we?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. Just as Sherlock turned to leave, he added "Oh, and Sherlock. I'd hate to have to install surveillance in Two Hundred and Twenty-One B, so do be good to Dr. Watson."

Sherlock arranged everything while John was out of the flat, so when John finally arrived home the look of astonishment on his face was perfectly understandable. He'd left Sherlock lying on the sofa in his pyjamas and second best dressing gown, lost in thought, and had come back to find him dressed in a well tailored suit, the flat looking unusually tidy and a hot Chinese takeaway (John's exact favourite) plated up on the surprisingly clear table.

"Sherlock," he said slowly. "What's all this about? It's not my birthday, or Valentine's day, or our anniversary, so...?"

Sherlock pulled John's jacket off his shoulders without a word, hanging it up and steering him towards a seat at the table.

"Is this about that case with the thieves?" John said carefully. "Because I told, I'm alright now. I'm all healed up, so you don't have to keep on being so nice to me. It's weird."

"Am I not allowed one unscheduled romantic gesture?" asked Sherlock, lighting a candle in the middle of the table.

"I suppose," said John as they tucked into their dinner. Sherlock's portion was considerably smaller, but at least he was eating without being told. "It would be nice to know what's brought this on though. It's a bit out of character."

Sherlock shrugged noncommittally. "I just felt like it."

John scoffed as Sherlock opened a bottle of wine. "Oh yes, extremely out of character."

They talked as they ate, John discussing his work at the surgery and Sherlock discussing his new experiment that studied the length of time it took a severed human finger to dissolve in acid. It was a testament to their relationship that Sherlock didn't dismiss John's day job anecdotes as dull, and John was able to listen to Sherlock talk about dissolving human body parts without going off his dinner. Once they finished eating and had each had a glass of wine, John gave his boyfriend a quizzical look.

"So are you going to tell me what this was all about now?"

"I told you," said Sherlock coolly. "I just felt like it."

John smirked. "You do know I don't believe you, right?"

"I know," said Sherlock. "Perfectly understandable, since I'm not being entirely honest. You were right."

"Was I now? About what?"

Sherlock took a second to choose his words carefully. "You were right about this being about what happened during the case with the thieves. I know you're perfectly fine now... but I don't think I am."

John looked slightly worried. "What do you mean? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong at all, John," said Sherlock. "Far from it. It's just that recent events have got me thinking. About us. About our relationship."

John clearly had no idea where this conversation was going. Sherlock had been carefully rehearsing what to say in his head for about a week, so he really had no idea why he suddenly felt so nervous.

"John," he began. "I'm sure it goes without saying that you mean the world to me. For the majority of my life I have found the idea of caring, feelings, sentiment and love completely pointless, and I suppose in many ways I haven't really changed. But you are the exception, John. I knew that from the moment we met."

John was clearly speechless, which was understandable. When it came to his feelings, Sherlock had never been very vocal and John wasn't used to hearing his partner voicing his emotions out loud.

Sherlock continued. "During the fire and while you were in the hospital, I'm not ashamed to admit to you that I was terrified, more than I have been in my entire life. Not for my own safety or for the sake of the case, but because of you. I was so scared that I was going to lose you. And once you woke up it made me realise just how much I need you... how much I... _love you_."

John's eyes widened and he felt his chest tighten. He could count how many times Sherlock had dropped the L word on one hand. Not that he didn't know that Sherlock loved him, he just knew that the detective wasn't very good at saying it. What was coming next had to be serious, and he wasn't wrong.

"I don't want to even contemplate living without you, John. So, that being said..." He took a deep breath which did nothing to calm his nerves, and pulled a small box out of his pocket, placing it on the table. "John, will you... marry me?"

There was a second's worth of silences that seemed to go on for days, before John let out a nervous and rather undignified giggle.

"Wait, really?" he said incredulously. "You're being serious?"

"Of course I'm being serious," said Sherlock, narrowing his eyes. "When am I not ever serious? I know that tradition during a marriage proposal is to get down on one knee, but I've never been one for tradition. So?"

John picked up the small ring box on the table, and his eyes lit up when he opened it to find a simple gold wedding band. As he took it out of the box he found that it was engraved on the inside with just one word – _Forever._ His eyes filled with tears.

"Yes," he said quickly. "Yes, yes, of course."

It was Sherlock's turn to look incredulous. "Really?"

"Yes, really," John laughed, wiping a tear off his cheek. "Of course I'll bloody marry you, Sherlock! It's not like I was ever going to say no to you, I just... I can't believe it!"

Sherlock grinned, wide and ecstatic; the sort of smile that only John was lucky enough to ever witness. He got up from his seat and knelt beside John, taking the ring from him and slipping it onto his new fiancé's finger. Sherlock stood and pulled John up with him, the couple wrapping their arms around each other.

"I love you so much, Sherlock," John said into his fiancé's chest.

"I love you too," Sherlock said, his voice muffled against John's shoulder. "I promise you I'll never stop."

They pulled away from the embrace slightly so they could catch each other's lips in a kiss, starting off soft and loving and steadily becoming more passionate. Their lips parted just long enough for Sherlock to drag John upstairs to their bedroom, but the second the door was closed behind them they were kissing all over again, heated and fierce and desperate. They undressed each other with an air of impatient, neither of them able to get the other naked quick enough.

In what felt like no time at all, Sherlock had John on his back, working him open gently but firmly with two lubricated fingers until John signalled that he was ready. They didn't bother with a condom tonight; they wanted to feel every inch of each other's skin, nothing at all coming between them, even a thin layer of latex. They both moaned and threw their heads back once Sherlock entered John in one swift move, staying still for a while so John could get used to it, just holding each other and savouring the feeling of being so completely close before they eventually started to move.

Their love making started slow and sensual, the newly engaged couple kissing and touching in a wonderfully familiar rhythm. John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's slender waist, bringing him even close as they lost themselves in each other. They whispered each other's names against their lips, panting and moaning as their movements increased in speed. Sherlock reached for John's dripping erection between them, stroking in time with his thrusts as they quickly edged closer to their release. John dragged his fingers through Sherlock mess of dark curls, kissing him hard as finally something snapped and his orgasm crashed over him in waves of intense pleasure. Sherlock is only seconds behind, the feel of John's climax causing him to erupt deep inside his fiancé, thrusting messily until they are both breathless and spent.

They lay together in the afterglow, a comfortable tangle of limbs, kissing gently and gazing happily and drowsily into each other's eyes.

"Mr. Holmes-Watson," John whispered to himself. "Dr. John Holmes-Watson. Captain John Holmes-Watson. Hi, I'm John Holmes-Watson and this is my insufferable sociopath husband, Sherlock."

Sherlock chuckled sleepily, shifting in bed so his head rested on John's chest. Nothing relaxed him quite like the sound of his John's heartbeat.

"All of that sounds wonderful," he murmured as he began to fall asleep. "My name really suits you."

John sighed contently, pressing a kiss to the top of his fiancé's head. "Goodnight, Sherlock Holmes-Watson."

"Goodnight, John Holmes-Watson."

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Hope you enjoyed, Humble Readers.

xxx


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